Promise Her

by Johnston, Andrea

  I scroll through my phone logs and don’t see a missed call or any unread texts from Scarlett. It’s hard for me to believe she’d just pick up and drive hours for an impromptu trip to Lexington. Before I can pull up Addy’s contact information to see if she’s heard from her, a knock at the door grabs my attention. “Yeah?” I shout.

  The door slowly opens and one of the waitresses sticks her head in and says, “Sorry, boss. A few groups just walked in, I think Caleb could use some help.”

  Nodding, I rise from the chair and stretch my arms over my head, a long deep breath released, and shake off the exhaustion and worry that Scarlett is out alone, driving without anyone truly knowing where she’s headed.

  I lose myself in my job for the next hour. Pouring shot after shot while flirting with the female customers has lost the romance of my early years behind the bar. Yet here I am, going through the motions as usual. I’ve never been one to shy away from female attention, nor one to be lacking in it. Flirting has always come easy to me. A smirk accompanied by a wink and a lingering touch as I slide a shot across the bar has never steered me wrong. During my enlistment, I encountered a few women that were looking for more than I was willing to give. Addy has teased me for years that I’ve left broken hearts in my wake at every assignment. I don’t know about hearts, but I do know there have been a few broken dishes when I’ve had to remind the women I’m not looking for forever.

  The difference between now and those earlier days isn’t just the years but what I want out of life. I accepted my life as a bachelor years ago. I never felt it was fair to bring a woman into my life when I wasn’t sure when or where I’d be reassigned or if a deployment was imminent. Now my reasons for remaining single are deeper than any of that. It’s less about geography and my obligations. Like many of my friends, what I’ve seen, how I’ve learned to process it all, it’s not something I’d burden another person with. Sleepless nights, nightmares, and a broken body is my cross to bear.

  It doesn’t mean I wish things were different. Scarlett sent me a picture of her ultrasound from her recent appointment, and I sat for too long looking at the photo. The baby looks like an alien to me but he’s also the greatest looking alien ever. She’s going to make an amazing mother and that boy will want for nothing. He will know what it’s like to have overbearing and protective uncles. His family by blood may not be around, but his family by choice will always care for him.

  “Hey handsome,” a petite blonde says from across the bar. Her too tight pink tank top is close to busting at the seams as she shimmies her body up onto the bar, tits practically spilling onto the bar top. I think her name is Lisa or Lila. Something with an “L.” She’s been coming on to me for weeks, promising she can rock my world.

  “Hey doll, what can I getcha?”

  “Well,” she says with a purr as her fingers slowly tap their way across the bar top, “first, I’d like a slow screw against the wall, and then I’d like a beer.”

  It takes everything I have in me to not roll my eyes at her come-on. Poor thing thinks she’s original. In all my years bartending, I’ve had a statement almost identical to that with that same shot as the punchline repeated to me at least three or four times a week. And, yet I’ve never actually made the shot for the person asking for it. Innuendos are cute when you’re twenty-something. In my mid-thirties, they’re embarrassing.

  “Do you have a preference of vodka?” I ask as her eyes bat rapidly. She’s likely trying to figure out why I’m asking about vodka. “For the shot, A Slow Comfortable Screw Against the Wall.”

  Defeat hits her when she realizes I’m actually going to make the shot for her and not give her an actual screw against the wall. “I’ve changed my mind. Just a beer is fine.”

  Smiling, I pull a chilled glass from the cooler and turn to the taps for a domestic light beer. I toss a cardboard coaster toward the young girl who is no longer displaying her tits like an appetizer on my bar and set the pint glass down. “Three bucks.” Smiling, she sets three crumpled bills on the bar and spins on her heel, glass in hand. No tip. Got it.

  The second wave of customers begins to slow, and I signal for Caleb to take a break. With a nod, he doesn’t hesitate to slip from behind the bar and down the hall to the back door. I begin emptying the dishwasher and wiping down the counters when a throat clears from the other side of the bar. Lifting my eyes, I’m greeted with a beautiful vision of a messy bun, wide eyes, and a smirk I’ve missed.

  “Can I help you, miss?” I ask, leaning forward, elbows resting on the bar top.

  The smirk turns to a smile. With her head tilted, the wayward traveler says, “I heard this place has the best steak sandwich in Texas. What do you know about that?”

  “I’d say whoever told you that is right.”

  “Thank goodness. I’m starving and need sustenance. I’ll have one of those and a large water, please.”

  “What’re you doing here, Red?”

  Puckering her lips and squinting her eyes, Scarlett looks around, seemingly taking in the activity around her. People are laughing and drinking, the noise level a decent hum, not too loud but loud enough to keep the customers here for a good time. Following her gaze, I see the flirty blonde from earlier looking my way as she winks. Scarlett mutters something under her breath and quickly turns back my direction.

  “Can’t a friend visit a friend?”

  “Of course, but I’d like to know why I had to hear about you visiting from Cap. Who, by the way, you need to let know you’ve made it safely to your destination.”

  “I already did. And I’m sorry I didn’t ask you first. I just needed a break, and maybe I wanted to see you and this place. It’s fantastic, Taylor. I’m really proud of you.”

  When she looks at me like that with her kindness shining bright, it’s hard to be upset with her. Instead, I walk from behind the bar and step up to her seat. Looking at me, she looks confused as I pull her into a hug.

  Chapter 10

  Scarlett

  When I pulled into the parking lot of Country Road, I wasn’t sure what to expect. From the outside, it looks like an old-school honky tonk from the 1980s. The parking lot is gravel and the vehicles range from large pickups with massive tires to small economical hatchbacks. I knew from the hour it was likely the after-work crowd and those who come here to kick off their weekends with a few drinks.

  I contemplated calling Addy before going inside. The reality that Taylor would have likely spoken to Grant and known I was headed to places unknown did give me pause. Addy would be a great buffer for any lecture I would receive, and it’s been weeks since I’ve seen her.

  Instead of playing it safe, I decided to stand my ground and instead sent a quick text to Grant, letting him know I arrived safely. He admitted to ratting me out to Taylor and was grateful I did end up in Lexington and not somewhere else alone. By the time I opened the door to the bar, excitement and nerves filtered through my body. The thumping of the music from the speakers was oddly calming. So normal and expected from a bar, I welcomed the bass and made my way across the room.

  Pausing a few steps from the bar, I stood to the side and watched my friend do what he does best. Charm the ladies with smiles and winks. His charisma like a cloud around him, the women are drawn to him like a moth to a flame and I can’t say I blame them. Now, pulled to his chest, my cheek resting against his beating heart, I no longer hear the music that fills the room. It’s only the thump of his heart in my ear and the whoosh of my own blood rushing through my veins that I feel and hear. My hands move in circles on his lower back and he shifts, clearing his throat before he steps back.

  His hands move the tendrils that have fallen around my face away and for the briefest of moments, I forget who we are. I forget he’s my husband’s best friend and I’m a pregnant widow. For just another beat of my heart I see the man he is, the way his dark gray eyes widen. I want nothing more than to lift my hand to his cheek, feel the scruff on my palm. Instead, I do nothing and watch as his
eyes flick from my own to my mouth and back again.

  “You hungry?” he asks and just like that the moment is over.

  Nodding, I smile and reply, “Yep. Starved.”

  “Steak sandwich it is.”

  I sip on my water with extra lemons and limes as Taylor moves about the bar serving customers. He’s the perfect balance of professional bar owner and flirtatious bartender. The attention he gives to each patron is just enough that each feels like they are the only person he’s taking care of. That’s what he does. He takes care of each customer. Whether it’s a handshake to a regular or a wink to a shy woman, I’ve yet to see anyone walk away from their encounter with him unhappy.

  Leaning back in my chair, I rest my hands on my baby bump and yawn. It’s been a long day and the adrenaline from driving here and seeing Taylor has easily evaporated. Exhaustion overwhelms me, and the realization I haven’t made a reservation at a motel hits me hard. Like everything else these days, the realization strums up tears, and I have to suck in a deep breath to keep them from falling.

  To my right, I see a tall and curvy brunette slide a piece of paper across the bar top toward Taylor. He smiles and accepts the paper. A slight tug in my belly cues up an emotion I haven’t felt in a long time. I won’t call it jealousy. Although, envy is an adjective I’m not afraid to admit.

  Brazen and without a care, the young woman didn’t even wait for a confirmation he’d call before turning on her heel and walking toward the door with her friends. Instead of pocketing the paper, he crumples it up and tosses it in the trash at the end of the bar. Relief. It’s the next feeling I have and, instead of questioning why that’s reasonable, I sit up and smile as he turns his attention to wiping down the counter.

  “Hey barkeep,” I shout, catching his attention. Smiling, he turns to me. “I realized in my haste to get out of town, I forgot to book a room somewhere. Is there a preferred motel here in Lexington?”

  “Scarlett, you aren’t staying at a motel. You’ll stay at my place.”

  “No way,” I screech. Coughing to cover up the squeal, I continue, “I mean, I don’t want to be in the way. A motel is fine.”

  “Red, take this,” he says, pulling a key from his keychain and holding it out for me to take. “I’ve already text you my address to enter into your GPS. Go to my place and get settled. I’ll be home in about an hour, once things here settle down a bit.”

  Taking my phone from my purse, I look at the notifications and see the text he mentioned. Accepting the key, I glance back up at him, his expression leaves no room for argument and I nod in agreement.

  “What about my sandwich?” I ask, my stomach echoing the query.

  “I had it boxed up to go. I figured you were exhausted from the drive. Here you go.” He lifts a white bag from the counter and sets it on the bar in front of me. I guess he’s thought of everything. Sliding off the stool, I pull my purse across my body and pick up my dinner, tugging awkwardly on the straps of my purse before saying, “Thank you. I guess I’ll see you?”

  “I won’t be long. Make yourself at home and I’ll see you in a bit.”

  Before I can reply, another customer approaches the bar, taking his attention away from me. Giving myself a few beats to watch Taylor, I do as I’m told and leave for his house.

  Taylor’s home is a pleasant surprise. Sure, the expected monochromatic colored furniture, massive big screen television, and ramen noodles in the cupboards exist but so do splashes of color throughout the main living space, a large wooden art piece I assume was hand-crafted is hanging from the vaulted ceiling, and top-of-the-line appliances are nestled into their nooks in the expansive kitchen. An entire wall is nothing but what appears to be river rock, a fireplace in the middle of it with framed photos lining the wooden mantel. The picture of him and Henry as teenagers causes me to pause in my perusal. Picking up the frame, I run my finger along the faces of the two men who have given me more emotional support and care than anyone else in my entire life. My family included.

  Setting the photo back in its spot, I continue looking around the main living space. It’s warm and inviting, comfortable and homey. I long to nestle into the couch with a blanket, but what I need more is a shower. Leaving my suitcase at the foot of the stairs, I wander up to the second-floor landing, looking for the guest room. Opening the first and then second door, I only see rooms being used for storage. Rooms that haven’t received attention or the makeover of the first floor. The third door is a bathroom that looks usable but without a shower curtain.

  Meandering back down the stairs, I follow the long hallway to an open doorway. A spacious bedroom greets me. The room is easily the size of all my small bedrooms at home combined. I know this because the biggest bed I’ve ever seen sits in the middle of the room and does nothing to fill the space. A small door to the left, I assume the closet, is closed, but to the right I see an open doorway. Walking into the bedroom, the scent of lemon furniture polish mixed with a hint of sage and musk greets me. A pair of sweats is on the floor at the foot of the bed and I lean down to pick them up, placing them on the bed before walking toward the open door.

  “Whoa,” I whisper. Taking a step forward, I’m suddenly in a beautiful oasis. A room that would easily fit in any home makeover television show, this bathroom has everything you could dream of. Double sinks with separate mirrors to the left and a large multi-person shower to the right. Below a large window sits a clawfoot tub, and I can’t help but clap my hands together in excitement at the long and glorious bath I’m about to take.

  The room is white but not sterile. If I were to ever design the perfect bathroom, this would easily fit the bill. Next to the shower are open shelves lined with towels and a few decorative baskets. I loved the living room, but Taylor may find it difficult to get me out of this room.

  Excitement I haven’t felt in a long-time courses through my body and I practically skip to the tub, turn on the water, quickly grab a towel before adding a little body wash to the water to make some bubbles, and undress. Sliding my body into the suds, I settle in and let the tension I’ve been holding fade from my existence.

  I doze, not really falling asleep but allowing myself to fully relax and live in this moment, for what feels like only seconds but is long enough for my skin to prune and the water to cool. As goosebumps sprinkle my skin, I rise up, and grab the towel I set on the side of the tub.

  Patting my arms and body, I take in my reflection in the mirror. My skin is flushed from the bath and I notice the small changes pregnancy has done to my body. The light dusting of freckles I’ve had my entire life have darkened as have my areolas. My breasts, double the size they’ve always been, are heavy and full. I can’t imagine what they’ll be like over the next few months as my body prepares for birth.

  Thankfully, Taylor invested in large bath sheets and I’m able to wrap it around my chest and tuck the end in. Stepping up to the mirror, I pull my hair from the bun on my head and run my fingers through the tresses, breaking up the small knots in the process. Turning on the faucet, I wet my hands and tap down some of the flyaways on my head before spinning on my heel.

  Looking around the room, I realize I didn’t bring my suitcase with me, so I have nothing to change into. Shit. I listen and don’t hear anything in the house and assume I’m still here alone. Quickly, I pad my way out of the room and into the hallway.

  Chapter 11

  Taylor

  Tossing my keys, phone and wallet on the counter, I open the refrigerator and grab a bottle of beer from the shelf. Twisting off the cap, I toss it in the trash and bring the bottle to my lips. It was a long fucking night but one that turned out to be pretty fantastic when Scarlett showed up. It was great to have her in my bar, simply people watching and sipping from her straw. I’ll admit, I was thrown for a loop when she mentioned getting a motel room. The thought never occurred to me. As soon as I read Grant’s text and saw she was headed this way, I assumed she’d stay here, and we’d resume the sleeping arrangements
we had at her house. Me on the couch and her in the comfortable bed.

  As I take in another draw from my beer, out of the corner of my eye I see her suitcase sitting at the foot of the stairs. Shit, I never told her to put her stuff in my room and use my bathroom. Groaning, I set the bottle on the counter and walk to her bag, pulling it behind me down the hall toward the bedroom. Just as I’m about to turn into the bedroom, Scarlett runs smack into me. Instinctively, my hand reaches out and I grab onto her, righting her so she doesn’t fall.

  With my hand wrapped around her waist, she gasps and her hands rest on my chest. Looking down, I’m hit straight in the gut with the vision before me. Her hair is a wild mane of red waves, skin flushed and wrapped in a towel. Startled, I can see her chest move as she breathes heavily. But, when she looks up through her wet lashes, bottom lip nestled between her teeth, I come unglued.

  Lust and an unspeakable energy swirls around us like a tornado of emotions and attraction. My mouth is suddenly dry, the beer I just drank long forgotten. Without thinking, my grip on her hip tightens, pulling her a little closer to my body. The need to wrap her in my arms and taste that lip she’s mutilating with her teeth is overwhelming. Instead, I release her and take a step back, the quick movement leaving her unsteady on her feet.

  Clearing my throat I say, “Hey, I was just bringing your suitcase to you.”

  “Oh. Thanks. I guess I forgot to take it with me. That’s been happening, I’m suddenly quite forgetful.” She smiles sheepishly but I watch as her eyes dart to my lips. Heat fills my veins, and I know I need to get away from her before I do something completely stupid.

  “Well, here you go. I’m just going to . . . yep, here you go.”

  Sliding her suitcase toward her, I turn and bolt down the hall to the kitchen and safety. A reprieve from the suddenly overwhelming attraction to my best friend’s wife. Picking up my previously discarded bottle, I finish off the beer, toss the bottle in the recycling, and grab another bottle from the refrigerator.